Right, so here’s one for ya, mates. Everyone’s kickin’ off over this Epstein 50th birthday letter from Trump fiasco, yeah? Trump’s out there screamin’ it’s fake news, sayin’ he’s gonna sue everyone from the Wall Street Journal to the Mar a Largo gardener. Shoutin’ about how it ain’t his letter, never drew no dirty doodles, none of it’s him. But here’s what really cooked my noodle, yeah, not once did Trump say to Murdoch or the WSJ, “Go on then, show it to the world and let them see it's a fake letter.” Nope. He’s threatenin’ to sue, but not demandin’ they slap it on every front page from Bangkok to Birmingham. Funny that, innit?

 

Now here’s where it gets even juicier. Who’s the loudest one screamin’ to release the letter? Not Trump. Nah, it’s his own bloody running mate, JD Vance. All over Twitter, shoutin’ about transparency, lettin’ the people see it. And I’m sittin’ here thinkin’, hold on, why would Trump’s own lad be wantin’ this birthday letter out there? Unless… maybe Vance reckons if this letter’s as bad as it sounds, it ain’t Trump who’s endin’ up still livin' large in the White House. It’s him, Vance. Trump goes down in flames, resigns or gets impeached, and bang, Vance is slidin’ into the big man's chair with a grin like the Cheshire Cat in a fish market.

 

And you can’t tell me this ain’t crossed a few minds in their camp. This lot ain’t exactly the Three Musketeers, more like a pack of alley cats eyein’ each other’s lunch. Trump’s shoutin’ fake news, Vance is demandin’ show us the goods, and the rest of ‘em are probably pickin’ curtains for the Oval Office. You could not make this up, lads. American politics, where your best mate’s already practisin’ his victory speech before your arse has even warmed the chair.

 

 

Most fairy tales begin with a "once upon a time" and end with a "and they all lived happily ever after".

 

The WSJ said that in the doodle, Trump signed his name to represent pubic hair.

 

I'm betting most of those girls were still hairless.